


Kali Nifta

by Beckill



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, I Don't Even Know, I need to cope, SO I PLAYED RDR2, WHAT IS GRAMMAR, and also playing online, and doing another run, and it hurts, just scribbling for fun, my first english fanfiction ever, tbc is cancelled, this is me coping, wth am I doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:13:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24571366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckill/pseuds/Beckill
Summary: Her hands pressed into the weapon, her voice now broken while warm tears stained the weapon’s diaphanous handle. Her gaze rested on her daughter, now deep asleep in her cot.Caterina clenched her teeth in a furious grimace, her eyes now steeled in a cruel resort.Angelo Bronte will pay for all this. L’avrebbe pagata cara.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan & Original Female Character(s), Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	1. Kali Nifta ~ Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone!  
> So, I don't really know how this works but, I recently played Red Dead Redemption 2 and my heart is still broken so I started throwing words around to cope. English is not my first language but no one gives a fuck about RDR2 fanfics in my first language so here I am. I just wanted to share this 'cause I started to really care about this fic. This is also my first attempt to write something so I hope it makes sense. I don't really know what I'm doing. This is not betaed 'cause I don't really know who to ask so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes, I'll try my best to fix them. 
> 
> Anyway, there will be a song lyrics here, an old popular song from Italy. Puglia, to be exact. It will be explained in due time but if you want to hear the song I'll leave a link [here](https://youtu.be/f_OIZTdr5nE)

_It was a hot summer night._

_The full moon, casting her yellow gloom all over the city, hung low in the sky, draped by clouds chasing each other aided by the wind. From the near river came sounds of the swamps, frogs and toads croaking and the crickets songs. A lone raven croaked its lonely melody, echoing in the distance._

_Music from a carillon and the soft singing of a young woman played from one of the estate windows, where a mother cradled her baby to sleep._  
_The lullaby was of an ancient language and it lulled the little girl._

_“Tien glicea tusi nifta ti en òria_  
_cìevò plonno pensèonta 'ss'esena_  
_C'ettù mpì 's ti ffenèstra ssu agàpi mu_  
_tis kardia mmu su nifto ti ppena”_

_Her big eyes stared into her mother’s ones, enchanted._  
_Suddenly, a gunshot teared the night._

~•~

Ellie opened her eyes, waking with a start.

“Elena, _tesoro_ , are you all right?” a soft female voice asked.  
The child turned towards the voice.  
“Mama, thos evil men ‘gain – said with a small voice little Ellie – ‘s they back?”  
The young woman’s eyes softened a bit.  
“Don’t you worry now. my sunshine – assured her, moving closer to her daughter’s cot – we’re safe and no one will find us”

The woman tucked her in, petting those dark hair and humming a sweet melody.

T’was five years since that night. That night of July 1871 when Antonio Santo was murdered, his young wife Caterina and small baby Elena fled into Saint Denis muggy night, a coach and no more than five men riding at their side, with them just a bag and the clothes on their backs.  
Ell was now a little older than seven and couldn’t remember much of that night. Couldn’t remember much of her father either, just the distant sound of a deep laughter, a warm embrace and the faded scent of an Italian cologne.  
But the gunshot. And all the gunshots that followed that first one, those she could remember, dreaming them during the night, years after.  
That shot and the rushed escape between her mother’s arms. A faded memory of a terrible journey on a coach at breakneck speed, surrounded by the last of her father’s most trusted guns.

Caterina was a young woman of 27 years old. She came from Italy, from Salento, many years ago. She emigrated with her brothers to seek some fortune after their parents passed away. She dreamed of a different life, a perfect life and America promised just that, a place where all your dreams could come true.  
Eventually she found the love she read about in her books. One beautiful day she met Antonio Santo on her 17th birthday. He followed her on a train to New York and they never left each other after that. They spoke and chatted and laughed, the train trip long and tiring but for them it seemed just a few minutes long. He swept her of her feet with his gallant and romantic ways and she was young and pretty and so willing to fall in love.  
Caterina, young romantic soul, did fell, hard.  
They married in a clear summer evening in Saint Denis and soon after a little baby girl was in their arms. They called her Elena, for she was their sunshine, their baby Ellie.

Everything seemed perfect for Caterina. Life smiled at her and she had a bright future in front of her. No matter if her husband was part of an organization or if his younger associate gave her the creeps. She had a good husband, a beautiful estate in the city and a daughter with her shiny golden eyes and rosy cheeks.

That night everything fell apart, the beautiful memory shattered and she came back to reality, her face crossed by a flash of white hot anger. Caterina shook her head, chasing away those memories of a life long gone.  
She was young but everything that happened in her life made her feel a decade older.  
She observed her girl, who was trying to get back to sleep, still humming her song and kept petting her raven hair that she got from her father.

_“Evò panta ss'esena penseo  
jati 'sena, sfichi mmu 'gapò  
ma pu pao, pu sirno, pu steo  
e sti kkardìa panta sena vastò”_

Her gaze wandered around the small room. Soon they’ll need to move again.  
Her eyes eventually settled on a leather box and she moved towards it, still humming and opening it. She reached out and grabbed the _LeMat Revolver_ , it was a sleek, beautiful weapon, it had an iridescent pearl handle and silver carvings on the dark, long barrel. The last keepsake of her love. She had lost everything. Reduced to a runaway life, a life of hardships and poverty, a life without freedom. A life without her beloved. She was made a widow and she was still so young. She wore black dresses and hid her broken heart under the dark fabrics.  
Her hands pressed into the weapon, her voice now broken while warm tears stained the weapon’s diaphanous handle. Her gaze rested on her daughter, now deep asleep in her cot.  
Caterina clenched her teeth in a furious grimace, her eyes now steeled in a cruel resort.

_Angelo Bronte will pay for all this._ _L’avrebbe pagata cara._

•••

_“C'isu mai de m'agapise, oriamo  
E su pònise mai pu se mena;  
Mai citt'orria chili su en onitse  
Na mu pi loja agàpi vloimena”_


	2. the raven with a broken wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Great Plains ~ 1899  
> The day that didn't really went how she hoped to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!  
> Ok, I need to plan a bit 'cause I'm at my inlaws atm and I can't write in peace.  
> Luckily I wrote this before going away and hopefully I'll be home next week. Can't wait to be home ;^;  
> Ok, first of all I made truce with html and fixed the layout for the prologue, now my brain can finally shut up.  
> Anyway, let's start the journey! I hope you'll like this chapter!

Mercy had never been a loner, really, but she also loved the times she spent in solitude. She had a lot of those, lately. Well, lately was an understatement. For years the only company she had was the one of her horse and the animals she hunted. Well, a cowboy to keep her company for a night here and there but nothing too serious anyway. She liked hunting. People or game. Anyway, she kept to herself, minding her own business and that worked well for her. Very well, until that morning.

Of course, the one time she goes back to Tumbleweed that shithole of a town throws up the worst of its scum on her face. Fuckin’ Del Lobos. Bunch of bloody buzzards, the lot of them.

That was two days ago and now she had to keep going. She had to keep pushing. Her horse was a bundle of nerves between her legs, the dappled Criollo shifting his gallop to a breakneck speed.

“C’mon boy, to Blackwater – she spurred the stallion – we lost them but we have to keep going”  
“I really need your help now” she then added in a whisper.

She felt her side, the gash caused by a rain of slugs now wide open under the soaked dressing as it trickled blood on her saddle. She had to reach the city before she bled out there on the road. The tips of her finger were already numb so she forgoes the reins, fixing them on the horn of the saddle and relinquishing the way finding to the stallion. She could only focus on staying upright in her saddle and thankfully Sam knew the way to Blackwater like she knew the back of her hand.  
Mercy gripped the braided black mane of the stallion, leaning on his neck and talking to him, spurring him forward and keeping herself awake. Thieves Landing was far behind them and she could begin to see the Great Plains in front of her but she also was at her limit. She had been hit two days prior, hunted by those sonofabitches for an entire day and her measly dressing couldn’t do very much. When she saw the almost black stain on her bandaging that morning she knew she had to get to a doctor as soon as possible.

_C’mon Mercy, breath in and out. In and out._

The young woman tried to time her breaths with the gait of her horse but Sam was huffing and puffing like a train, too fast.  
She then thought about her last hunt, eyelids heavy.

A fair summer morning. Sky as blue as lake water, peppered with wisps of white clouds. She laid on her tum, the dewy grass and dead foliage of the forest floor dampening the front of her blue shirt. Tall Trees was her favorite hunting spot and this area here near Aurora Basin was the perfect place to wait for big game. She already had some rabbits and turkeys hitched on her horse but she needed some more pelts and meat before calling it day. She squinted her eye watching through the telescopic sight of her Springfield rifle. An elk would be ideal, she could use the extra money if she could take down a bull with a good set of antlers. She shivered in the cold air of the mountains, chilly even during summer.  
That’s when a rustle caught her attention.  
She held her breath, waiting, checking with one eye that her bow was still where she put it, in case of need.

It was a stag. A beautiful stag, walking through the trees and carefully approaching the shallow waters of the small lake. It checked its surroundings, tasting the air before bowing its snout to the water. It was big and it had a beautiful pair of antlers placed like a twisted crown on its head. It must be very old. Her finger hovered on the trigger. In the sunlight its coat shined almost golden and she hesitated and slightly lowered the rifle. It was like watching at something that wasn’t meant for human eyes. The stag looked her way, its black eyes digging into her amber ones. It couldn’t see her, she knew it, but she paused. Miles away a pack of wolves howled. At that the stag flinched and jumped away, deep into the forest.

Mercy’s sight blurred, she couldn’t hear her horse’s breath echoing like a bellow in her ears anymore but she could feel him vibrating under her chest and between her legs.

_Almost there boy, almost…_

Sam neighed and it was like an echo far, far away.  
Everything went black.

~•~

The Great Plains were as dull as always. The wind was blowing, pressing the tall grass in waves of yellow and green, it looked like a sea surrounded by rolling hills. Some crows were soaring in the sky, circling and cawing their song. Below them a small group of Pronghorn does grazed in some tree’s shade.  
Arthur considered stopping and pulling out his journal for a minute, before remembering Hosea was waiting for him at Blackwater Saloon. He spurred Boadicea to a light trot with a click of his tongue, the dark Fox Trotter mare nickered and shook her head a bit.  
All of sudden the peace of the place shattered with the roar of a panicked horse. Arthur’s head whipped around, left and right, trying to locate the source of such ruckus.

There. Up on the hill, a pinto horse was stomping, circling around, bucking and tossing its head. Arthur kicked his feet and Boadicea surged ahead in response. Nearing the furious animal Arthur immediately spotted a figure on the ground. He jumped down the saddle, Boadicea sliding to a stop.

“Whoa there! – he said, slowly approaching the horse with his palm forward – easy there boy!”

Spotting a stained dressing on the fella’ side and a trickle of blood on the horse’ neck and saddle Arthur felt anxiety rising but moved slowly, the animal was already panicked and he really didn’t need for it to rear and stomp on that poor fella. He raised his hand to grab its reins but the stallion screamed bloody murder and moved to bite him. The animal was out of his mind, white foam at his mouth, under his saddle, on his legs.

“C’mon now – he growled and jumped back – your friend here really don’t need it now”  
Arthur moved faster and managed to grab the horse’s bite after a few tries, patting his neck and nose.  
“Just like that boy, easy – Arthur sighed when the horse settled, somehow – let’s help your friend here, ‘kay?”

With that he kneeled in the dust, gingerly moving the body on the ground. It was a young woman, despite being dressed as a man, dark dusty pants and scuffed boots with a white burgundy-stained shirt and black neckerchief, a red sash tied at her waist. She had raven hair in a braid that slipped out when her hat fell and a huge wound on her side, judging by the blood staining the bandage. She was very pale, she must have bled a lot.

“C’mon now, hang in there” he gently took her and moved near Boadicea, the mare a little shaken by the panicked stallion proximity. He placed her on his horse and, keeping her steady with his left arm, he pulled himself too on the saddle, holding her between his arms. This way he could check on her. He felt a light breath and a feeble pulse on her wrist.

Still alive then. Good. He spurred Boadicea to a fast gallop. He would have to forgo comfort for a faster pace and he silently apologized to the woman.

Arthur had just spotted Blackwater’s buildings when he suddenly felt a twitch.

“…am” wheezed the woman  
“We’re almost there” he reassured  
“…sam…” she breathed again, shuffling  
“Easy, you’re safe, don’t talk” Arthur reassured again when he felt a thundering of hooves behind him.

The horse from before was back, tailing Boadicea as if his life depended on it.  
Arthur heard a light raspy chuckle coming from her and her head lolled to the side.

~•~

It was a peaceful morning. Blades of light penetrated the dusty air, settling on the old working desk. You could hear the quiet click clacking of hooves on the paved road and the buzzing of people going about their day. Doctor William Peterson sighed and pushed his glasses higher on his nose before curving on the ledger and scribbling some numbers. Blackwater was a town bigger than many others, well on its way to become a city but today was quiet. If he strained his ear he could almost hear piano music coming from the saloon, or maybe he was just dreaming it.

_Ah, whatever._

The little man stared at his papers. He could almost see double and words made little sense to him after reading all day. He slapped close the book, ears of paper peeking out from the volume and he pushed it away, ripping away his round glasses he rubbed the bridge of his nose, then stood, planning to pour himself a glass of bourbon. He placed the tumbler on the smaller table behind him and went to the cabinet. His large pendulum clock tictacking the time away, he opened the glass shutter of the ebony cabinet, it creaked a bit. Grabbing his prized bottle he uncorked it with a squeak.

The door of his study crashed against the wall with a loud booming noise. William jumped and flinched hard, his precious bottle almost shattering on the floor but saved last minute.

“Need help here!” a deep harsh voice boomed from the entrance and William quickly slipped on his doctor gear, doctor Peterson now ready to work, bourbon forgotten.  
“What?! What’s happening here!”

Rounding the corner he saw a big man on his doorstep. He had a woman in his arms.

“She needs care Doc” he panted  
“Quick, place her there, let me see – Peterson commanded pointing at the bed and making space on his desk – what happened?”  
“I found her unconscious in the Great Plains. Dun know for how long she was there - he explained – she fell from he’ horse, guess she got shot or assaulted”

Peterson slowly removed the soaked dressing and flinched. A bad wound indeed, she surely had lost a lot of blood. He moved quickly, cleaning the wound with practiced motions and felt relief when he saw that it was a graze wound, the slugs caused some bad gashes on her side but thankfully there was none stuck inside, but the skin around was an angry red and the area was swelling a bit. She probably cleaned it in a rush but couldn’t stitch it close, the blood loss and inflammation did the rest. The woman was white as a sheet and her breathing was now ragged. He looked over the man who still was on the doorstep, fiddling with the hat in his hands. He got her here by the skin of her teeth. Peterson got a vial and gave her one of his opium formulas to soothe her pain, he then stood to roll his sleeves and wash his hands. He stitched her side and cleaned again the wound before redressing it. He could breathe easy now.

“She owes you her life” Peterson mumbled  
“Huh?”  
I said that you brought her to me just in time – Peterson repeated – she bled a whole lot even before you found her. If she’d stayed out there for just a bit longer she would be dead. You did good, son”

Arthur scratched his head.

“Well, everyone would ‘ve done it” he mumbled

Peterson thought about a robbery the week before.  
Three men shot to death, their coach overturned in the dust.

“Wouldn’t know about that – Peterson said, washing his hands again, red rivulets circling their way down the drain – with how things are out there, I wouldn’t know…what’s your name son?”  
“Arthur. Arthur Morgan”  
“And I’m William Peterson. Well, mister Morgan, I thank you on behalf of this young woman here – Peterson said, smiling and nodding toward the now sleeping form on the bed – she will need a lot of rest but she’ll be fine”  
“Ah, that’s good then” Arthur said  
“It was very kind of you to stay here, it wasn’t your responsibility – continued Peterson, gathering bottles and tools to put them away – I’m sure she will want to thank you once she wakes”  
“Ah, it’s not necessary really, it wasn’t a bother at all”

An high pitched screech came from outside and Arthur startled.

“Aw hell, the damn horse” he ran outside, putting his hat on. The stallion was still outside with his Boadicea. The mare had her ears flattened on her head as she tossed it. Arthur grabbed the stallion’s reins.

“C’mon, you demon, let’s get you settled – Arthur growled and tied the reins on Boadicea’s saddle horn, before turning to the doctor who also stepped outside – doc, this her horse, he’ll be at the stables when she ask”  
“Yes of course – Peterson said – let me get her things before, she will need them once she’s conscious again, even if my formula knocked her out cold so it will be a good while”

Arthur got the saddlebags down dodging another bite and handed them to the doctor who nodded a thanks.

“Farewell, mister Morgan, a good day to you” saluted Peterson

Arthur waved at the doctor, before getting on Boadicea, urging her at a walking pace. The stallion settled behind her and dutifully followed, even if his ears were perpetually flattened on his head. Arthur now could get a good look at the horse. He was a bay overo frame Criollo stallion. He was bulky and not very tall, a noble head on a curved muscular neck with a dark mane. He was black but had two huge white areas on either side of him, a pink nose where a big stripe lined his face and blue eyes. He was covered in dust, his legs caked in sand and mud, but in some places where his sweat dried there were darker patches of his coat gleaming under the sun and shined a deep chocolate color. He was as handsome as he was a hyena though. The horse raised his head with a snort, as if reading his mind. Arthur shook his head.  
He still had to join Hosea at the saloon so he had to get a move on. At Blackwater stables he unhitched the stallion from Boadicea saddle and lead him inside. The horse reared and squealed but didn’t try to bite him. An improvement. Arthur patted his neck and the Criollo snorted.

“That’s a fine steed you have there – a man with grey mustaches said – may I help you sir?”  
Arthur squinted, his eyes still adjusting to the different light.  
“Good day, this boy here needs a good brush and a good meal – Arthur greeted and gestured to the stallion – his owner is at the doctor right now, had a brush with death this morning”

At that the stableman face darkened.

“I know what you mean, outside Blackwater ‘s like a battlefield”  
Arthur nodded in a “I know right” fashion.  
“Well, I really need to go – Arthur said, before turning to the horse – you be good okay? Don’t be a bitch”

The stallion rasped the floor and Arthur patted his neck once more before handling the reins to the man who grabbed them to unsaddle the horse.  
Arthur almost made it outside before stopping, as if remembering something.

“Ah be careful – he yelled – he’s a biter!”  
“Fuck!”

The stableman threw himself to the side just in time almost getting his ear chomped off.

“Told ya!”

•••

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, you may have noticed we swayed quite a bit from the prologue.  
> I wanted to write something lighthearted but I want to get back to Bronte when the plot will near Saint Denis of course. I'd like to reach it naturally and see how it goes. Thank you so much for reading! If you have questions or advices feel absolutely free to tell me!  
> (btw summer is near yay!)  
> Have a nice day everyone!  
> Ciao ciao~!


	3. the wolf in sheep's clothing

_Tumbleweed was a small as shit town._

_Sure, she had a saloon and everything else but she still was just a little dot on the map, lucky enough to have a mine nearby at Gaptooth Ridge and the nearness to the desert made the town a forced stop for all those people going to and from the desert, towards Mexico or the Wild West. Oh, it was pretty too in a twisted kind of way. The place was dusty all right, but the red rocky hills and canyons surrounding the town were beautiful, the sunset set them ablaze like you was trapped inside summer fires. There was thorny bushes and cactuses as far as the eye could see and some animals were brave enough to make that desert place their home, you gotta respect that._

_The town itself looked as if it sprouted from soil bit by bit. A whole lot of small buildings standing on a desert border, scorched and burned by the sun, freezing during the night, placed so randomly that it looked like someone just tossed them on Earth like dice on a saloon table. What a piece of shit of a town indeed. All those people helped in making Tumbleweed look like a damn anthill._

_After two weeks in that godforsaken sand hole even she was starting to lose her mind._

_A man got off his horse, hitching the black American Standardbred to a post. He had greying hair, cut short and pomaded. Blue ranch pants under leather chaps and a shirt that once upon a time may have been white. He got his rifle from the saddle, moving then to help a little girl down from her chestnut Morgan._

_“It will be a matter of minutes – he said, placing one hand on her shoulder and putting his gambler hat on her head – you keep an eye on ol’ Jay and Tara ‘k?”_

_“Yes Viiii’” she singsong rolling her eyes but smiled._

_She couldn’t have been more than twelve years old, a little thing she was, short and lean, with big eyes and dark braided hair._

_She stared at the man until he disappeared into the General Store, sitting on the wooden platform, next to the horses. Tara nudged her hat with her muzzle, she shooed the horse with an affectionate flick while looking at the coming and going of people and horses of all kinds. A brown dog with grey spots barked and wagged its tail at its owner. She relished in the sound of voices and clip clopping of hooves on the dusty road._

_The girl smiled._

~•~

Mercy gasped and opened her eyes. Her sight was unfocused and she felt as if a herd of wild mustangs just trampled her into the ground. She blinked a little, trying to regain some focus. She didn’t recognize her surroundings. It was a square room, the bed she occupied leaned on a wall on the left and had a night table on the right. After blinking a couple of times she could see a desk on the other side of the room, right next to the door. From the windows, the orange light of the sunset filtered in through lacy curtains. It was quiet but she could hear the tictacking of a clock somewhere in the same building. A horse neighed outside. She tried to get up but felt a sharp pang of pain in her side. Mercy gasped falling back on the plushy pillow.

“Ah, you’re awake” a voice said.

Mercy snapped her head right. A little man stood on the doorstep, a steamy cup in his hands, he had curly grey hair with a receding hairline and little glasses perched on his nose. His gaze was gentle and Mercy relaxed a bit, head on the pillow and rubbed her face.

“Where am I?” Mercy rasped

“You’re in Blackwater’s Pharmacy, I’m Doctor William Peterson – he said - how are you feeling?”

“Like I just rode the train to Saint Denis and back tied to the tail car by my feet” she huffed and tried to get up again. He stepped forward, chuckling and placing the cup on her night table.

“Don’t move around too much or you’ll pull the stitches – he ordered – here, let me help”

William lifted her, slowly pulling her upright, placing the pillow behind her back. Her head swam.

“Oh Lord…” she whimpered.

“Yeah I know, I knocked you out pretty hard – he chuckled grabbing the cup and offering it to her – but you needed the rest”

“The hell did you give me - she mumbled and eyed the cup suspiciously – how long did I sleep?”

“You were brought to me in a bad shape, I gave you some opium and ginseng mixture, to relieve the pain and make you sleep. You slept for two days, you really needed it. This, however – and he pointed to the cup in her hands – it’s just tea”

Two whole days of sleep. Bloody hell. She seemed to understand and sipped. It was good, a little bitter.

“So I made it to Blackwater somehow – she mused. Suddenly, she jerked, the cup dangerously clinking in her hands – where the fuck is my horse?!”

Peterson’s eyes widened at the curse.

“Settle down, everything’s alright! - he placed his palm on her shoulder, the other open palm in front of her – one thing at time, what do you remember?”

Mercy scrunched her face in thought.

“I remember being near Tumbleweed, chasing a…well, I was hunting – she recalled – I had a run in with Del Lobos and one of those cretins shot me, a shotgun I reckon”

“That surely explain the wound then” Peterson nodded

“Yes, I managed to get away somehow, I ran ‘till sundown and I was able to lose them around Fort Mercer so I stopped near Lake Don Julio to clean up a bit and rest my horse, luckily there was a shack there. I left at dawn and rode without stopping until I reached Thieves Landing’s area. I hid in the woods and didn’t even lit a fire, I stole the horse’s warmth… my poor boy, he pushed so much… – she sighed and then continued – the following morning my wound reopened and I started bleeding a lot. I knew I had to run here as fast as I could but I don’t remember actually getting to Blackwater”

Mercy tried to remember but she could only recall reaching the Great Plains and then nothing at all. Her head still felt too light. And she was starving. She soon gave up on trying to recall anything.

“Ah, that would be mister Morgan doing” Peterson explained

Mercy turned and tilted her head in a silent question.

“Mister Morgan found you in the Plains, you were unconscious on the ground so he brought you here – the doctor added – he also took your horse to the stables here in Blackwater. Never left this place ‘till you were safe also. Very kind of him, I reckon”

Mercy stilled.

“Very kind, indeed – she eventually smiled and finished the tea – I’ll see if I can find him to thank him”

Peterson smiled, the doctor’ eyes crinkling behind his little round glasses, and took the cup from her.

“About that miss…I’m very sorry, I didn’t even ask for your name miss” the doctor said, embarrassed.

Mercy shook her head.

“Ah, don’t be, I think we had other things in mind lately, both of us…- Mercy smiled and paused – I’m… name’s Cat Mercer”

The doctor observed her for a bit and then nodded.

“As I was saying, miss Mercer, you’ll need to take it easy for at least a week or two, more would be better. No running around, I can tell you have an…ah, an active lifestyle – he glanced at the gun belt hidden among her saddlebags - so I suggest you just rest and don’t move around too much, we don’t want to pull your stitches and bleed again”

Mercy nodded, she feared as much.

“Yes sir, I understand” she simply said.

“And I’m embarrassed to say, but I’ll probably need this bed. For your comfort I suggest you rent a room at Blackwater Hotel. I’ve already arranged something for you with the owner, as a convalescent patient of mine he’ll hold back a bit on the price – Peterson explained and then got some supplies and bandaging – now, let’s take a look at that side of yours”.

Mercy nodded and placed the empty cup on the table. Thank god she hunted down that moose bull last week so now she had some money on her. She spent all day butchering that thing, fearing a pack of wolves would attack her attracted by the carcass, but in the end all that venison, pelt and antlers sold well. She moved gingerly but she already felt a bit better than before. Strange. She tossed an accusatory glare at the cup. Doctors and their “teas”.

Peterson helped her lean down and gently lifted her shirt, it was clean so Mercy guessed someone must’ve changed her at some point during her slumber. The dressing was white, no bleeding then, so far so good. The stitches were still tender but the skin wasn’t inflamed anymore. The doctor cleaned three rows of stitches and several other scratches and redressed her side with a pleased smile. This would surely leave an interesting scar. She sighed, just another one to her collection.

“Perfect miss, you’re out danger, if I dare say – Peterson said, tossing her old dressing and washing his hands – I’ll bring you water and something to eat so you can rest and tomorrow we can move you to your new room. Your bags are there near your bed if you need something. If you wish for assistance I’ll be just next door”.

Mercy thanked the doctor and watched as he got outside. She then looked at the window just by the bed’s foot. She slowly shuffled towards it and gazed outside. She placed her arms and chin on the windowsill. Blackwater’s streets were still tinged red from the dying sun but it was getting dark.

Mercy sighed. She already missed her horse and her freedom.

~•~

_He dreamt of a clearing at night, the full moon hung low in the black sky casting a silver hue on everything. There was a white rock, right in the center of the field. Blades of grass as high as his knees caressed his legs. It was an eerie night and Arthur shivered. For a while nothing happened but he suddenly felt a pull upward. He raised his gaze and that’s when he saw it. A black blur, plunging downward from the sky. It was like an inky tear dripping from the moon. The black blur rang out a croaking cry, falling. Arthur stepped forward but his legs felt like lead. It landed with dull sound on the rock. It was a raven, big and lean, it had glossy feathers and its beak was sharp as knife. It laid on his back, helpless, eyes staring at the black sky, its wings were wide open and crooked. He reached for it and the raven cawed, blood staining the pale stone. A wolf howled at the full moon._

Arthur sketched the dying bird on his journal. He drew the rigid way the bird laid, blood pooling under its wings. He traced rough lines, pencil leaving black deep paths behind. Something was off. It looked like the one he saw in his dream, but not quite. He sat a little away from the others, but could still hear the sounds of life at camp. The rustle of horses and Bill Williamson snoring the day away, a bottle of whisky most likely in his hand. From Dutch’s tent a soprano sang some kind of opera melody, the girls talking among themselves while sewing and doing chores and the thudding of Pearson’s cleaver as he cut meat for the day’s stew. Just the usual day at camp. A thundering of hooves made him look towards the entrance hidden through trees, Micah Bell and the Callander brothers were back from their latest heist, laughing and throwing insults at each other, as always.

“The boys back!” someone hollered from the sentry post, Javier most likely. Arthur already felt an headache coming. He closed his journal with a thump and put it away in his satchel. He then brought a cigarette at his lips and lit a match on his boot’ side. He puffed a cloud of smoke and leaned his back against the log, head thrown back. A crow circled above him, cawing. It reminded him of the wounded raven and he wondered if the girl from the other day was fine. She was in a real bad shape, but it was nothing he hadn’t seen before. A scare for her, that was sure.

Some minutes later the crunch of gravel at his left made him turn his head, slowly.

“Arthur, there you are”

“Hosea – Arthur greeted – need something?”

Hosea placed his hands one hand on his hip.

“You got a minute?”

Arthur put out the cigarette on the log and flicked the butt away.

“Sure, let’s talk”

Hosea led Arthur to a round table and sat down. He had some papers strewn across the table.

“I have it, Arthur, the lead I told you about some days ago. We could make a whole lot of money out of it but we have to be well prepared” Hosea circled and tapped something on a paper.

“When you say it like that I don’t know if I should be more happy or worried – Arthur snorted and sat down – what it about?”

“I heard something about some real estate thing going on in Blackwater. Some city folks going around, buying and selling land and properties, but it looks like something is not quite right, if you know what I mean here” Hosea explained with a twinkle in his eyes.

Arthur snorted a laugh.

“We going to out scam the scammers is what you mean” he smiled and shook his head and the older man smirked

“Cheating on a bunch of crooks? Hell, even if something goes wrong who they going to run to? Oh sheriff, please help me, I tried to scam a fool but they robbed me to my knickers!”

Arthur laughed and seemed to muse about it for a bit.

“Dutch said something’?” he asked. Hosea snorted.

“Pft, he’s quite taken by his coach robberies, I reckon that as long as we bring him money we’re good to go and we’re going to make a lot of money with this, trust me, we’ll be riding to California sooner than you think” Hosea grinned

“Ah what the hell, I’m in – Arthur finally said slapping his palm on the table – so, what we do?”

“You mean, what you do, for now at least – Hosea patted the younger man’ back – you go to Blackwater and be as a civil person as you can be, emphasize the civil, ask around for some properties or for someone interested in buying them maybe, plant the seed and hide in plain sight”

Arthur seemed affronted.

“Me? Uncivilized? Really?”

“C’mon, off you go” Hosea laughed and pushed Arthur towards Boadicea

“Why me though?!” he protested

“Because. It’s perfect, a youngish man looking for a new property while selling his own before settling down, tying the knot? That’s perfect bait I tell ya” Hosea huffed. Arthur groaned in pain.

“Really? And what will you do?” Arthur inquired, tripping a bit.

At that Hosea smirked his mysterious smile and smacked the younger man’ shoulder.

“You do as I say and let the master work his magic, dear boy, I’ll be in Blackwater too in a bit”

Arthur knew better than arguing with that, the old bastard was a master at what he did. He met Hosea when he was a young angry kid and in all the years they were together he observed Hosea spinning tales and donning masks. Hosea once tried to teach him but Arthur always had more of an aptitude for fighting, sometimes Hosea would sigh and shake his head, “more brawl than brain” he used to say. But one thing Arthur did learn. Do as Hosea says and don’t ask, that much he could do. But he had to be hogtied before being caught at playing dress up willingly.

“Alright, alright, I get it, see you there then”

Arthur pulled himself on Boadicea’s back and clicked his tongue, the black mare nickered and trotted away from camp. This better be worth it.

The camp itself wasn’t a very long way from Blackwater, they stopped near Manzanita Post some weeks before, after crossing the desert and picking up some new faces meanwhile. They were a long way from the little mismatched group from West. It all started with two men and a kid but Dutch had a passion for picking up strays, the group now counting almost thirty people. Providing for that many souls was proving to be a challenge, but they always got by.

Arthur crossed the Great Plains alternating between a trot and a light canter, Boadicea his only company. Travelling through those void spaces you could hear Blackwater even before seeing it. As a town well on the way of becoming a city, it was bubbling with activity, people coming and going, doing business, shopping or just sightseeing, boats coming to and from Saint Denis unloading wealthy visitors from over Flat Iron Lake. Main Street was as crowded as ever, the beating heart of the town. It was Blackwater’s only paved street, once surely the only street at all. All the main activities were concentrated here, from Blackwater Saloon to the Hotel. Recently a Theatre sprouted on one end of the road, on the other end was Doctor Peterson Pharmacy. Arthur looked at the small blue door with _Peterson’s Pharmacy_ _1890_ painted in golden letters.

“I swear to the Lord, doc! If you don’t take this goddamn money I’m gonna flip!”

A woman yelled and Arthur snapped his attention forward. It was doctor Peterson, shaking his head and pushing his palms forward. His grey curls twisting with the force of his shaking. He was talking to a woman who remained hidden by a parked wagon.

“Nonsense girl! Nonsense! You already paid what you owed me, I need nothing more!” the doctor stated and started to walk away.

“Wait now-!”

Arthur decided to intervene.

“Doc! Everything’s alright?” he said loudly

The older man eyes flicked upright and frowned a bit before beaming at him.

“Aaaah, mister Morgan! Good day, good day!” he greeted and was soon flanked by a woman. That’s when Arthur saw her. The wounded girl from a week before.

~•~

When she woke up this morning, Mercy really didn’t expect to spend most of her time chasing the old doctor, trying to make him see reason. This morning she woke up and put on one of her dresses, trying to keep a low profile for the time being. It maybe was one of her last dresses, a blue skirt with a sleeveless sandy bodice. A light blouse hid the fact that she had to keep the bodice half open to accommodate the bandage. It was by no means stylish but it would do for now.

Said dress was now in her way of running around that stubborn piece of work called William Peterson. Said man insisted on not being paid more for his services. Mercy tried to offer more money to thank him for taking care of her when she was unconscious, also for healing her without being paid in advance, and _that_ she frickin knew it was something real special. One time she was even slapped awake before being treated by a sonofabitch doctor up there in Illinois and that was something that could’ve gotten that doctor killed, if not for the knife slash in her leg and her head still ringing by being smacked with the butt of rifle a few hours before. She just managed to grab a bill from her satchel before passing out again. Mercy owed to this man here and she owed to that mister Morgan too. Mercy hated being in debt with someone, it left too many trails behind her. So that goddamn doctor needed to be paid some more, handsomely and as soon as possible, this ridiculous situation already gaining too much attention for her liking.

“Goddammit doc, just take this money, I won’t leave until you do, I swear-!”

“Now girl! I did my job and I already said you’re not in debt with me! Now, I like your company and all that but you really don’t need to come with me, you need to rest missy” mister Peterson insisted, the gentle smile never leaving his face and that infuriated Mercy even more. She knew she was being unreasonable but years and years of living alone and fend for herself really took a toll on her sense of preservation. She couldn’t afford to be indebted to someone. And that day was a close call. Too close for her liking. Mister Peterson walked away again and she hurriedly grabbed her long skirt and wobbled behind him. She didn’t look very graceful right now, she knew as much, but the little man had quite the stride when he wanted to and she had to keep close, lest she lose him again in the crowd.

“I swear to the Lord, doc! If you don’t take this goddamn money I’m gonna flip!” Mercy yelled and a gaggle of women looked annoyed and whispered among themselves hiding their painted mouths behind gloved hands, one of their dresses could have fed her for a month at least. Mercy didn’t really care what a bunch of snotty nosed city ladies thought about her so she didn’t even glance at them. Doctor Peterson raised his hands shaking his head as you would do at a child talking nonsense.

“Nonsense girl! Nonsense! You already payed me what you owed, I need nothing more!” he said, turning to continue his day.

“Wait now-!”

Mercy started to reach for him but a loud voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Doc! Everything’s alright?”

“Aaaah, mister Morgan! Good day, good day!” the doctor greeted the stranger warmly

 _Mister Morgan? What are the chances_? Mercy thought and stepped forward.

There he was, a big man built as bull, tall and broad shouldered. He towered over her, sitting on his horse as he stared at her. Mercy couldn’t clearly see his face, half hidden under a gambler hat but she could see a bearded squared jaw and a mouth bended in a frown. She knew he was judging her in a way. Mercy started to bristle but squashed the feeling. The man saved her life, after all.

“Same to you doc, all’s good?” Morgan said sliding down his saddle, stepping forward and fixing his hat. Mercy could now see blue eyes staring sideway at her, but she still needed to crane her neck to stare back. Fuckin lamppost of a man. Mercy worked her jaw and donned one of her smiles.

“So you’re the one I have to thank for still being alive and kicking?” Mercy said, smiling and tilting her head, a long way from the hollering woman from before. Arthur scratched the back of his head.

“No need to thank, that’s what you do when you see someone passed out on the side of the road, glad to see you well enough to be outside” the man spoke in a low tone, his voice was deep and soothing in a strange kind of way.

 _Great, another humble fella_ , cringed Mercy. She smiled.

The doctor at her side did a subtle double take at her, before speaking up.

“Everything’s good, Miss Mercer here was thanking me again for my services and I was just explaining her that the fee she already paid was more than enough, but she won’t let it go! This is one stubborn woman mister Morgan, don’t be fooled!” Peterson’s eyes crinkled behind his round little glasses as he smiled.

 _Damn you old man!_ Mercy growled under her breath, smiling back at him

“You’ll have my thanks one way or another doc” she said in a syrupy voice, smile straining a bit.

“Ah, what am I doing! I really need to go back to the Pharmacy! I’ll leave you two now, have a good day! Remember your medications and rest Miss!” and with that the doctor disappeared, leaving the two of them alone. Mercy watched him ducking around a corner and glared at the wall.

“Way to ditch me like a hot potato doc…” she mumbled.

“Well, I take it’s alright now?” a rough voice said next to her.

Right. Mercy almost forgot about the wardrobe of a man next to her. She turned, smile on her face, craning her neck again. Shit, he was big.

“Yes, I had to be stitched back together, but now I’m fine. I need to stop running around for a bit though, for me that’s the hardest part” Mercy said, gingerly touching her side. Arthur followed her hand with his eyes, then nodded.

“Yeah, I thought so when I looked at you that day. Ain’t every day you find someone riddled by bullets, a woman nonetheless” Arthur said, placing his thumbs in his belt loops. Mercy shrugged, crossing her arms on her chest.

 _Dressed as man and alone_ , he mentally added. Arthur wondered the story behind that.

“Hah, I know. Had a run with Del Lobos near Tumbleweed while I was out hunting – Mercy explained and Arthur frowned sympathetically – they caught me off-guard, I almost became the prey that day”

Well, this didn’t help at all to quench his curiosity.

“Well, you did good, getting yourself all the way here from the desert with a wound like that” Arthur said, just a bit impressed and Mercy smiled shaking her head.

“Well, I have to thank Sammy for that” she simply said, shrugging.

“…who?”

“Sam, my horse. Ah, about that, mister Peterson mentioned you was the one who took him to the stables… I hope he wasn’t too much of a problem, he can be difficult sometimes” she explained, thinking back to her brave boy waiting for her at Blackwater Stables’ paddocks.

“That demon’s called Sammy?” Arthur half said, half laughed. He had an hearty laugh, thought Mercy, but she really didn’t know if she should be offended on behalf of her horse.

“I admit, I think he wanted to kill me when I tried to get to you, but I have the feeling he understood I was just trying to help at the end, followed me all the way here too. Boadicea wasn’t too keen on it though” Arthur said, nodding at the dark mare behind him and the horse bumped her nose on the back of his head, tilting his hat on his eyes yet again. Mercy chuckled and stepped near the mare.

“I guess I owe you my life too then” she said patting her neck. Boadicea snorted and rubbed her snout on her dress, leaving a grassy stain of drool. Arthur looked crestfallen all of sudden.

“Ah, miss I’m sorry for-!” he started to apologize.

“Ah, it don’t matter. I was on my way to the stables anyway, see how the boy is holding up. The stableman too, I think he and Sam have a feud of sorts going on” Mercy laughed and waved her hand. It really didn’t matter. Arthur didn’t look to convinced but he also didn’t protest. He simply nodded his head. Better this way. Mercy really didn’t have the strength to fight another man and his humbleness. She already had her hands full with doctor Peterson.

“You and, uhm Boadicea right? You two can come with, if you want. I’m sure Sam will be happy to see you again” Mercy chuckled.

“Eh, I wouldn’t be so sure” Arthur joked and then thought for a moment. He wasn’t sure he had the time to be dillydallying around. On the other hand, if he was meant to look like a civil person he might as well go with her and be a gentleman in Blackwater’s eyes. He knew that in this city even walls had eyes and ears. He looked around, people passing around them. This could help after all. He looked at the woman, grass stained dress thanks to Boadicea’s drool, raven braid on her shoulder and amber eyes staring at him expectantly. He could now see her cleaned face, covered in a blanket of freckles. It wouldn’t hurt at all to act like a decent person for a change.

Look at him, thinking ahead. Hosea would be proud. He straightened his vest.

“Why not though, c’mon, ‘s not far” Arthur said, grabbing Boadicea’s bridles and gesturing for her to walk beside him. He wondered if offering his arm would be too forward but the woman already took off.

The two of them walked slowly, she limped a bit trying to not strain her healing stitches. Arthur shortened his steps, accommodating her shorter stride while leading Boadicea by her reins. A comfortable silence between them, the soft clopping of Boadicea’s hooves on the dirt relaxed Mercy. She hummed a song looking at people around her, hands clasped behind her back.

“Ya know, I don’t think we’ve been introduced properly” she suddenly said.

Arthur looked at her, feeling like an idiot for a second.

“Cat Mercer – she said, smiling again – my Uncle used to call me Mercy. Truth is, no one calls me by my name anymore though. No one calls my name generally, more often than not I’m alone”

“Arthur Morgan” he tipped his hat at her and she chuckled and did a little bow.

“Well, nice to _properly_ meet you mister Morgan. Now that formalities are out of the way, look! we’re finally here, so convenient! - Mercy said, pointing to the stables paddocks just outside of town – sorry, I walk like a slug right now”

“Well, ‘t’s not like you can help it, right now” he said, parroting her final words and smirking at her. Mercy lowered her eyes and lightly smiled. He had a pretty smile, a bit crooked but charming. They walked towards the field in silence, but Arthur noticed her quickened steps.

“Ah, there he is, my boy!” Mercy lighted up and whistled a melodious trill, startling Arthur. The spotted Criollo was grazing in the distance, his head snapping up at the sudden noise. The noble profile of his muzzle a stark contrast against the clear sky, little ears perked up, listening. He let out a loud neigh and cantered toward the girl, shiny tail raised.

He was a proud animal, that much Arthur could tell. He hitched Boadicea to the fence and leaned on the wood, arms crossed and one foot propped on the lower board. Mercy opened the gate and got in, the horse sliding to a stop next to her and Arthur winced a bit. She quietly squealed sinking her face into the stallion’s long mane.

“Hey boy – she cooed – missed me?”

Sammy, _what a name_ , nickered, mouthing her skirt, rumpling it in search of something. Arthur thought she looked even younger next to her horse, even though he couldn’t quite put his finger on how old she was. In clear light he now could see a blanket of freckles on her tanned cheeks and nose, a few lines on her now clean face. She sure was used to an outdoor life. Maybe twenty seven or twenty nine. He wondered what she was up to, leading the life she did.

Mercy patted her horse’ shoulder and swatted his snout away.

“Stop undressing me what the hell, I get it, I get it, gimme a second, will ya – she scolded and went out the gate, turning to Arthur – I need to get inside and bring him something to eat, old Shelton won’t bring him inside, the old idiot”

He nodded, but could only imagine.

“Well, lemme give you a hand then” he offered. Mercy seemed to think about for a moment.

“Well, it’s not like I can go lifting hay – she jokingly acknowledged – thank you mister Morgan”

The two of them started toward the main building, a few hundred feet away.

“How come he looks like a puppy now?” Arthur asked, nodding towards the stallion that was now sniffing near Boadicea, who just plastered her ears on her head. Mercy looked forward, a distant look in her eyes.

“Eh, he’s a good boy, but he’s a fighter. His breed descend from war horses, bred for fighting and he always was a brave one. Had him since he was a colt, took him from a…friend, down south in Mexico. He was retiring and couldn’t tame and train this one so I got him for little. Well, it wasn’t little for me at the time but in hindsight it was a deal. My old horse got shot and at the time it seemed like a good idea. Taming him ‘s been a challenge of itself but it paid well. Saw him trampling a goddamn cougar, I swear to God”

“He’s quite taken by you, I can tell” Arthur said, finding new respect for her.

“It’s been just the two of us for a while. We’re not used to having company so we watch each other’s backs. He’s a little rough around the edges but he’ll come around. Hell, I think he already likes you” Mercy smirked and Arthur laughed.

“Well, I don’t know if I’m willing to risk my life again so soon”

They reached the barn and a mustached man made his way outside.

“Ah, mister Shelton!” Mercy greeted, beaming.

The man huffed and crossed his arms.

“Yeah miss, don’t “ah mister Shelton” me now!”

“Now now, don’t be all fussy on me, he’ll come around I swear!” Mercy cooed at him and the man looked affronted.

“Miss, he tried to bite my arse again this morning!” he cried and Arthur snorted.

Mister Shelton looked at him and pointed at him.

“You! You brought him here!”

“Well, ‘t’s not like I could bring him elsewhere!” Arthur justified himself and Mercy interjected, placing an hand on Arthur’s arm. He stiffened a bit.

“Oh mister Shelton, I’m sure you’ll find an agreement with the horse, a skilled stableman like you! There’s not a single animal you couldn’t handle! And you’ll be compensated for your efforts, of course” Mercy buttered him up and indeed the older man calmed down a bit. Mister Shelton pointed behind him with his thumb, his moustache shaking.

“There’s hay for him in there, you give it to him now and I’ll bring him in tonight” he said and stomped away.

“Thank you again, mister! - Mercy called and turned to Arthur smiling – be a dear and get me some hay, I need to get the satchel from my saddle.

Arthur nodded and moved where the man pointed to before to grab a hay bale from the pile. That girl smiled way too much. He couldn’t help but feel like something was off.

In the meantime, Mercy was rifling through her things grabbing the satchel hidden into her camping blanket. Her smiled vanished the moment Arthur turned his back on her. She was in quite the predicament. The more she looked at that man the more she was convinced he was indeed _that_ Arthur Morgan. She opened the satchel and rummaged ‘till she found a packet of letters, finding the paper she looked for. She unfolded it and peeked at Arthur again. Indeed. She folded the paper again and sighed, gripping it into her hands.

“You done?”

Mercy, startled, fumbled with her satchel, nearly dropping it on the floor.

“Y-yes! I am! Got my oatcakes and everything! We can go now!” she yelped and turned around, almost tripping in her skirt. Arthur raised a brow at that. Strange.

They reached the field again, Sam strutted like a peacock while Boadicea looked on, unfazed. Mercy laughed.

“Look at that idiot, now - she gasped – he sees a pretty girl and lose his head”

“Well, she is a damn fine girl you know” Arthur bragged, carrying the small haybale on his shoulder.

“Indeed, indeed! – Mercy rubbed a tear away from her eye – let’s get him something to eat before he wears down, strutting like that”

The two of them reached the gate and Mercy opened it.

“C’mon, get inside!” she said, holding the gate open. Arthur pondered it for a moment and Mercy snorted.

“C’mon I promise he won’t try to kill you, cross my heart” she bit her lip, trying not to laugh. Arthur shook his head and stepped inside. Sam stopped his show and stared at him.

“Hey boy, remember me?” Arthur said, tossing the hay on the ground.

Sam puffed like a steam engine and neighed, trotted until reaching him and Arthur stilled. Mercy chuckled, leaning back on the fence. She knew Sam liked to put on a show. Indeed, the horse snorted in Arthur’s face and snuffled him, before bending his head to munch on his hay.

“Good boy – said Mercy as Arthur relaxed - you too, Sammy”

Arthur shot a glare at the woman and she laughed even more. He was a little taken aback, the way she opened up to him in such a short time surprised him. He patted Sam’s back as he ate. She was a very laid back person and it seemed genuine.

She reached into her satchel, grabbing some oatcakes. Boadicea craned her neck and mouthed her braid, begging for one. Again, Mercy chuckled and gave it to her, the mare munched happily.

Arthur watched as she neared him, the sway of her steps much more relaxed now. He felt himself relaxing a bit too.

“See? You two are friends now – Mercy murmured and flanked him, starting a little braid in Sammy’s mane – it wasn’t so bad was it?” she then grinned.

“He’s not so bad when he’s not trying to chomp my limbs off – Arthur admitted, then looked at her – I think it has something to do with you being awake and here and all that, you know”

Mercy nodded and sighed, sobering up.

“Yeah, ‘bout that… - she started and lowered her eyes – I’m still in debt with you”

“There’s really no need to-”

“Don’t start, you too! – Mercy interrupted him and stepped back, reaching into her satchel – let me”

Arthur nodded and turned, his hand still not leaving the stallion’s side. Mercy grabbed a piece of paper, unfolding it before handling it to him, a somber look on her face. He grabbed the paper, not understanding what she was getting at. He looked at the sheet and Arthur’s blood froze in his veins. His eyes instinctively darted to her waist, the butt of a gun glinted from her belt, half hidden by her shirt. From the paper his face glaring back at him.

It was a bounty poster.

His bounty poster.

•••

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks everyone for reading this.  
> having an hard time in real life but I'm trying I swear ;^;  
> i keep overthinking everything on this work, not being in character, not being realistic, being too predictable and it's slowing me down and discouraging me. also this covid shit is giving me anxiety. sigh. sorry, didn't mean to vent, but playing rdr2 helps every time!


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